The Lack of a Letter
by azriona
Summary: You tell yourself you are magical. You tell yourself you should have gotten a letter from Hogwarts. You tell yourself you're joking. Guess what? You're not.


The Lack of a Letter  
  
It's a beautiful day outside, you know. The sun is shining, and the birds are clustering in the trees chirping away. You could be out there with them, swimming in the sea, or maybe skiing down the slopes. But instead you're inside, sitting at the computer, reading about a world that exists only in the imagination of a woman who lives in a big castle in Scotland.  
  
Or does it? Maybe, you tell yourself, this imaginary world isn't imaginary after all. Maybe there are magical people who exist. And maybe you're one of them.  
  
That's what you'd like to think?  
  
What if I told you that you did receive an owl when you were eleven years old? You wouldn't have known what it meant ... or what to do ... or where to go. You might have even thought it was all a prank.  
  
Oh, I can hear you now. "There was no owl in my backyard! I'd remember something like that happening! How could I forget being told I was magical?"  
  
But I tell you now that it did happen, and the reason you forgot was because you weren't supposed to remember. It's only now that you can learn the truth about yourself, because you have been wishing to be someone else. Let me point you in the right direction ...  
  
* * *  
  
It's a summer day, and you're eleven years old. You're playing in your yard, the sun beating down on your brow, and your concentration is broken by the flapping of wings. You look up to see a large brown owl sitting on the fence near you. In its beak is a cream-colored parchment, with your name written on it in green ink.  
  
The owl drops the parchment with a soft hoot, and it lands at your feet. You pick it up, unfold it, and begin to read.  
  
"This is a trick," you say, turning the paper over in your hands.  
  
"I assure you, this is no trick," says a voice from behind you, and you spin around. It's a strange-looking lady in a long green cloak, with a very fancy clasp at her throat. She's holding a scroll tied up with ribbon, tapping it against her arm.  
  
"How'd you get here?" you ask quickly, taking a step away from her. This puts you closer to the owl, which nips at your shoulder, and you jump. "My parents are just inside, and they don't like strangers -- "  
  
"Your parents are in town for the next several hours," corrects the lady, and you jump again, because she's right. "You needn't be nervous, I only want to talk to you a bit, and then I'll leave."  
  
"This isn't about that water balloon incident, is it?" you ask nervously. "Because that was Jordan's fault, not mine."  
  
"No," says the lady. "No, this is about the letter you hold in your hand."  
  
"Oh," you say. "I thought that was a joke?"  
  
"No," she says. She smiles, hands you her scroll, and you unroll it. It is written with green ink, and at the very top of the scroll it says: Guide to Wizards and Wizardry, for the Muggle-born and their families.  
  
"I'm sorry, but what's a Muggle?" you ask.  
  
"Non-magic folk," she says. "You see, you're a wizard."  
  
"A wizard? You mean, like magic?"  
  
"Yes. You were born with innate magical ability within you," she says. "You have the ability to control the world around you in ways that other people cannot. I myself am a witch, and I spent many years training at the very same prestigious school into which you have been accepted."  
  
You look at her. She certainly looks kooky, but then so does your Uncle Bill. "I don't believe you," you say firmly. "There isn't such a thing as magic."  
  
"Oh, it's quite real, that's certain," says the lady. And she pulls a wand from her pocket, and with a flick of the wrist and a muttered phrase you don't quite catch, the owl that has been sitting on the fence has turned into a telescope. You stare, open mouthed, looking back from telescope to lady, and she smiles. "My whole family is magical. But as you come from a Muggle family, I was sent here to explain the circumstances to you."  
  
"I'm not magic!" you say, quite alarmed, and you take another step back into the fence. The lady smiles.  
  
"Haven't you ever noticed things that no one else has?" she asks. "Like you know who's calling on the phone before you answer, or you know exactly when it will rain. You might think you're incredibly lucky to never have broken a bone, or be able to jump higher or farther than anyone else. Maybe you think that you can even read minds, a little, or at least be able to read people's emotions."  
  
You stare at her, and cannot say a word. Because she's exactly right. You are different. You are magical. You've always known you were special, but only now do you know why.  
  
The lady smiles again, knowing she has convinced you. "And now, you've got a choice to make."  
  
"A choice?" you ask. "I don't understand."  
  
The lady purses her lips, and motions to the lawn chairs nearby. You both sit down, and suddenly she seems much nicer and more accessible than the high-and-mighty witch she was before. She leans in toward you, and speaks very calmly and quietly.  
  
"Some Muggle-born wizards are given the choice to either live as a wizard, or a Muggle. You are being given that choice," she says.  
  
"Why me?" you ask.  
  
"You are not a very powerful wizard," she says. "Oh, you're quite strong in your own right. You have magical ability, just not a lot of it. If you were from a wizarding family, why then, there'd be no choice for you but to come to our school. But you grew up in the Muggle world, and thus you may rather stay here."  
  
"Why give me a choice at all?"  
  
"We used not to, until we began to realize that not every child was happy in the magical world, particularly when it was so different from how they were raised," says the lady gravely. "Many of them, in fact, would leave our world and go back to living as Muggles. And so we began to give new students a choice to never go to our school at all; to remain with Muggles entirely. We don't wish to make anyone unhappy, and as it's safe to let some children remain untrained, we decided upon this course of action."  
  
"Safe?" you ask. "How could it be unsafe?"  
  
"You will never blow up your house by accident, or cause fatal collisions, or any of that," she says. "If you were stronger, you might accidentally do these things. That's why the stronger children from Muggle families are not given the choice to remain with their families. They must go to school to learn to control their magic."  
  
"You aren't making a very strong case to go to this school at all," you say a bit bitterly.  
  
The lady smiles. "It does sound that way, doesn't it. Let me show you, then, what you could do otherwise."  
  
"Show me?" you ask, a bit nervous, but there isn't time for more because the lady has taken your hand and moved you toward the telescope. Her hand is cool and paper-thin, and she motions you to look through the telescope lens. You do, and it's as if you're using the telescope not to peer into the neighbor's living room, but to watch a series of scenes unfold before you.  
  
You see mountains, and clouds surrounding them. Through the clouds, a large building breaks through. A castle, or a very large mansion, completely surrounded by fields of flowers and grass lawns and gardens. There are children everywhere, running on the ground and flying on broomsticks. You almost feel like you're flying with them as you swoop inside the building, your stomach flopping into your throat, and once inside the laughter of the students dies away, and you hear adults' voices begin to speak. You see bubbling cauldrons, misty classrooms, objects that fly and spark and change so rapidly you can't tell what they are. You can smell the sour tangy scent of potions being brewed, mixed with the sweetness of chocolate and vanilla. You can hear a great cheer from across a distance, and turning your head you see that the entire school is watching some sort of sporting event, played on broomsticks. When you lean in closer, you realize that the students are cheering for you, in the center of the field, your hand raised in triumph and a great smile breaking across your face.  
  
The spell is broken, and you step back from the telescope. You can still hear the roaring of the crowd, however, and the murmuring of voices reciting Latin incantations. But here, in your backyard, the images are fading, and you look at the lady with glazed expression.  
  
"You would have the potential to do a great deal of good, in our world," says the lady softly. She taps the telescope with her wand, and it instantly changes back into an owl. "You might discover the potion that cures cancer. You might create a talisman that can keep the bearer safe through dangerous passages. You might someday negotiate a peaceful treaty between the wizarding world and the Muggle world. Anything is possible."  
  
You think on this. "If I went to this school -- what would happen to me?"  
  
"You'd learn all about magic, and how to use it," says the lady. "You'd take classes in spell-casting, and runes, and potions, and magical flora and fauna. You would be with children your own age, from both wizard and Muggle families. You'd have to go away, of course -- it's a boarding school, quite a far ways away from here. You likely wouldn't be able to come home terribly often."  
  
"But my parents can visit me?"  
  
"Unfortunately, no. Magical schools are protected against Muggles seeing them. They wouldn't be able to visit you, except when you graduate."  
  
"They could call me, though?"  
  
"Not quite. There aren't any telephones at the school. Muggle devices don't work on magical ground, you see. They could write you -- there's a system where you could receive regular post, but it would be far easier if they would obtain an owl."  
  
"And my friends -- "  
  
"You would not be able to tell them that you're magical. No one, except close family members, would be allowed to know. It's far too dangerous, you see."  
  
"I don't understand? Why is it dangerous?"  
  
"Well," she said, looking around the area, and lowering her voice, "You see, we magical folk have had trouble with Muggles in the past. It all comes down to jealousy. Imagine if you had a friend who was magical, and you were not? Wouldn't you wish you had that ability?"  
  
"Probably," you say.  
  
"Exactly," she says. "But you're a good sort of lad, you likely wouldn't act upon it. Whereas throughout history, there have been people who did just that -- lash out at those of us who had a spark they themselves were missing. And so some three hundred years ago, we shut ourselves off from the Muggle world, and have kept ourselves segregated ever since."  
  
"Wouldn't I be able to come home, ever, then?" you ask.  
  
"Oh, certainly," she says. "Only, you might not want to, after a bit. Most Muggle-born wizards eventually integrate themselves into our culture, and end up separating from their Muggle families entirely."  
  
You shiver, despite the sunlight, and shake your head. "I could never leave my parents like that."  
  
The lady nods solemnly. "It's a heavy choice, I know. You don't have to decide right away, of course. I will warn you, however, that if you choose to remain here, and not take advantage of this opportunity, then I'll have no option but to -- "  
  
"Take away my magic?" you blurt out. Something inside you twists, and your stomach hurts.  
  
"No, no," says the lady quickly. "You can never lose your magical abilities, even if you don't come to our school. They'll be a part of you forever; you just won't know how to use them to their full advantage. No, I would give you a Memory Charm, so that you would not remember receiving this letter, or talking to me."  
  
"I think I understand that," you say. "When do I have to decide?"  
  
"School begins on September 1," says the lady. "I would suggest that you make your decision before then. Put your letter in a special place. When you have decided, take it out again. If you have decided to come to our school, unroll it and read it aloud. If you have decided to remain here, throw it in a fire. In either case, I will come to you and we can proceed from there."  
  
You nod, and the lady in the long green cloak with the ornate clasp nods, and with a smile, disappears. The owl hoots at you again, and flies away. You watch it go.  
  
It's quiet in the backyard again. Too quiet, really, since if you try very hard, you can almost hear the cheering of the crowd. You go inside your house and sit on your bed, and you think for a very long time. It's a frightening prospect -- leaving behind everything you know for a life that is uncertain, but filled with possibilities. Or stay where you are, in the life you know, with the friends and family you love.  
  
It's a hard choice for an eleven-year-old. It's a hard choice for anyone.  
  
To leave, and never tell your closest friends where you go. You would almost certainly lose them as friends. To leave, and be an object of mystery to your parents. They might never see you in the same loving light again, once you are different. To leave, and be lesser than your companions. To watch others excel where you can only dabble.  
  
Or...  
  
To stay in the Muggle world, and become something more than you are. To have all possibilities open to you. To never have to lie to your family and friends about who you really are. To remain more yourself than otherwise.  
  
I think you know now what you chose, when you were young. It was a little fire that you built in the backyard, or maybe you lit a match in your bedroom. Perhaps you used the gas stove and fed the parchment to the blue flames there. All the same, the lady appeared moments after the last embers had died away.  
  
"So, you've made your choice, have you?" she asks, and you nod.  
  
"Will it hurt?" you ask.  
  
"No," she says.  
  
It doesn't hurt, but now you don't remember anything about the lady or the letter, or about magic.  
  
But sometimes you know who's calling on the phone when it begins to ring.  
  
And you know if a baby will be a boy or a girl before it's born.  
  
And you know exactly when it's going to start raining.  
  
And you know this too -- that whatever choices you have made in the past, you have no regrets. Because they were exactly the right choices for you, and you would not have made them any other way.  
  
So don't think about owls, or letters with green ink. That was in the past. It is not your world, and perhaps never really was to begin with. You have made your decision, and not lightly either. You are who you are supposed to be. You are home. 


End file.
